Gospel Story Finder

That same high school choir once traveled to California, USA, to compete in a music festival. I became ill just before departure, and my sore throat meant that I wouldn’t be able to sing with my choir in the festival—or if I did, I would sing poorly, accompanied by pain. I asked my father for a priesthood blessing and spent the next day praying for recovery.

Perhaps I didn’t fully understand then, as I sang “Amazing Grace” with a fully mended throat at the festival, that I was singing about the very power that had healed me just the day before. The Savior’s Atonement had blessed me that day; His grace was the source of my healing.

“I don’t know how to make someone’s attitude toward the gospel change, but I had an experience that you might be able to relate to the situation that you are presently in.

“During the time I lived in Ohio, I was one of only four Latter-day Saints in my school. I had a nonmember friend who sat next to me in study hall. I mentioned one day that I had moved to Ohio from Utah. From then on I just expressed my love and enthusiasm for the gospel. I offered him a Book of Mormon, which he read and found to be true. He took the missionary discussions and soon was baptized. Now he is looking forward to a mission.”
Laurie JenkinsManti, Utah

A story written by Karen Nolen, which appeared in the New Era in 1974, tells of a Benjamin Landart who, in 1888, was 15 years old and an accomplished violinist. Living on a farm in northern Utah with his mother and seven brothers and sisters was sometimes a challenge to Benjamin, as he had less time than he would have liked to play his violin. Occasionally his mother would lock up the violin until he had his farm chores done, so great was the temptation for Benjamin to play it.
In late 1892 Benjamin was asked to travel to Salt Lake to audition for a place with the territorial orchestra. For him, this was a dream come true. After several weeks of practicing and prayers, he went to Salt Lake in March of 1893 for the much-anticipated audition. When he heard Benjamin play, the conductor, a Mr. Dean, said Benjamin was the most accomplished violinist he had heard west of Denver. Benjamin was told to report to Denver for rehearsals in the fall and learned that he would be earning enough to keep himself, with some left over to send home.
A week after Benjamin received this good news, however, his bishop called him into his office and asked if Benjamin couldn’t put off playing with the orchestra for a couple of years. The bishop told Benjamin that before he started earning money, there was something he owed the Lord. The bishop then asked Benjamin to accept a mission call.
Benjamin felt that giving up his chance to play in the territorial orchestra would be almost more than he could bear, but he also knew what his decision should be. He promised the bishop that if there were any way to raise the money for him to serve, he would accept the call.
When Benjamin told his mother about the call, she was overjoyed. She told him that his father had always wanted to serve a mission but had been killed before that opportunity had come to him. However, when they discussed the financing of the mission, her face clouded over. Benjamin told her he would not allow her to sell any more of their land. She studied his face for a moment and then said, “Ben, there is a way we can raise the money. This family [has] one thing that is of great enough value to send you on your mission. You will have to sell your violin.”
Six days later, on March 23, 1893, Benjamin wrote in his journal: “I awoke this morning and took my violin from its case. All day long I played the music I love. In the evening when the light grew dim and I could see to play no longer, I placed the instrument in its case. It will be enough. Tomorrow I leave [for my mission].”
Forty-five years later, on June 23, 1938, Benjamin wrote in his journal: “The greatest decision I ever made in my life was to give up something I dearly loved to the God I loved even more. He has never forgotten me for it.”

I remember a fine minister, visiting Salt Lake City from South Africa, who came to my office inquiring:
“What is the basis for your doctrine of baptism for the dead?”
“Is baptism essential?” I asked.
“Yes,” he responded.
“Do you believe God is just?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Then what of those who died without baptism?” I inquired, and he indicated that he had often wondered about that. I asked whether he had overlooked Paul’s teaching: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29.) The minister looked at me and quietly said: “Thank you for explaining that doctrine.” I was glad he had been enlightened but sad that he and so many others had failed to see before. Yes, our Father in Heaven loves all of his children and has provided a way for every one of them to return to him.

But like many new converts, Teahumanu saw the gospel light he had received dim as worldly pressures overshadowed his initial commitment. In 1957, after Brother Manoï brought his family to Nouméa to look for work, he started to smoke and drink. Térotí would have none of it and returned to her parents in Tahiti. Teahumanu followed her—with some trepidation. When they were married, Térotí’s father had told him, “I’m giving her to you as a trust. If she ever comes back to me, watch out!” Teahumanu asked both Térotí and her father for forgiveness and promised to give up his bad habits forever. He has kept that promise.

By the time Jeff was missionary age, Bishop Chambers had been called as the stake president. But the new bishop, David Nye, had already heard from Jeff, who wanted his opportunity to serve, too. President Chambers and Bishop Nye arranged for Jeff to work one day each week in the cafeteria of the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. In addition, Jeff was called to serve with his brother as an usher, and they were encouraged to study their scriptures together.
Both young men check in regularly with their bishop, and from time to time with their stake president, to report on their progress. That progress has been magnificent.
The young men are enthusiastic about their callings and greet everyone they meet with a handshake and a smile. In return, they are greeted with friendship and kindness. Everybody in their home ward, as well as in the Riverside Singles Branch, which meets in the same building—in fact, just about everybody in the stake—recognizes the Balls brothers and knows about their special assignments. Lots of children in the stake remember Jacob as one of the special teachers who helped them learn about baptism and confirmation. And every Wednesday, Jeff’s mother Denise makes the one-hour drive to the temple so Jeff can spend the afternoon working in the cafeteria.
There, Jeff has made friends with cafeteria workers and temple patrons alike. He gathers up dishes and helps serve food, and yes, he loves to eat the meal he is provided, especially the slice of pie. But his number-one accomplishment, he says, is to help people feel happy. It’s something Jeff does in the house of the Lord, and something both Jacob and Jeff do in the ward, branch, and stake where they serve.

Mike is truly a special person, but it took me 18 years to realize it. Mike is my older brother, and for years we struggled to get along. We are very different. Mike, the family athlete, played basketball while I practiced the piano. I excelled in English and literature. Mike’s forte is science. But instead of our differences forming a complementary relationship between us, we let them turn into feelings of anger and contention.
Consequently, those negative feelings began to concern our parents. “Jeff, we are an eternal family. If you and Mike can’t get along now, you’re not going to be happy with him in the eternities,” my father said one day. “Of all the relationships in your life, this is one of the most important. You must put forth all your effort to build it up. It will take a lot of work; everything worthwhile does.”
That night I thought a lot about what Dad had said, and I knew he was right. I promised myself that I would try my best to build a better relationship with my brother.
With the hopes of building a friendship between Mike and me, our parents planned a long family vacation in Alaska where we could spend a lot of time together fishing, hiking, and camping. Mom and Dad’s plan caught a snag, though. Both Mike and I wanted to stay home to work and earn money for college. Disappointed but supportive of our decision, our family left us in Houston to work for the two months they would be in Alaska.
After they left, we both searched for good jobs with little success until Mike finally found one. The catch was he needed me too. A real estate manager had several houses that needed exterior paint jobs, and he was looking for a couple of guys to paint. At the time, the thought of working several hours every day with Mike was not appealing. But the money was too good to refuse.
On our first day of painting the change in us began. At 5:30 A.M., Mike yelled into my room, “Come on, get up! It’s only going to get hotter!” With a groan, I got dressed. We both knew once the sun was up, the temperature would rise quickly, making outside work even more miserable. Mike loaded the van with our equipment, while I made juice and packed fruit that we hoped would give us periodic reprieves from the beating sun.
As we began to paint, we realized our painting strategies were quite different. While I spent a lot of time on each area, moving on only when the area was well-coated and no spots showed, Mike would paint an entire wall quickly and messily and then return for a second coat to cover any missed spots. The different strategies were equally efficient and caused no problems until we both had to work in the same area. We then compromised. Mike began with his first coat and I followed behind, catching every spot and finishing details. We finished much faster than expected.
Another potential conflict arose in choosing a radio station to listen to. While Mike preferred the “light” station, I complained it was more monotonous than the painting. I didn’t want to argue, though, so I was preparing to give him the choice. But it was Mike who acquiesced. During the course of that day, Mike listened to more alternative rock than ever before. I even caught him singing along several times.
Though we painted through some periods without talking, we also maintained long periods of conversation, perhaps longer than we had ever talked before. Conversation made the job go faster, and as we talked it became clear that we had some things in common. In that one afternoon, we talked about school, the Church, music, and art. I told about a bizarre dream I’d had. He told me about his most embarrassing date. We found ourselves laughing as we realized we had repainted an entire wall in the midst of our conversation.
It was beginning to get dark when we finally finished the house. We cleaned our equipment, loaded the van, and then surveyed the house with satisfaction. As I drove home, I thought about something I’d learned in a physics class. Physicists define work in terms of force (effort) and displacement (movement). Thus, work becomes a term of progress, dependent on effort and movement. I thought about our first day of painting that same way. It had required a lot of effort, and we could see our progress on the house. But there was other work we had done that day too. Our relationship had become stronger. It wasn’t without effort, though. The words of my father echoed in my mind: “It will take work; everything worthwhile does.”
Later, I talked on the phone to my parents about the first day of painting. I told them despite the Texas heat, we were able to finish the first house. “Working with Mike wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was kind of fun,” I told my mom. “I’m excited to start the next house.”
Indeed, I couldn’t wait to continue what would turn out to be my real summer work—appreciating my brother.

Many years ago, our 15-year-old son Eric suffered a serious head injury. Seeing him in a coma for over a week broke our hearts. The doctors told us they were uncertain about what would happen next. Obviously, we were thrilled when he began to regain consciousness. We thought now everything was going to be fine, but we were mistaken.
When he awoke, he could not walk or talk or feed himself. Worst of all, he had no short-term memory. He could remember most everything before the accident, but he had no ability to remember events after, even things which had happened only minutes earlier.
For a time, we worried we would have a son locked in the mind of a 15-year-old. Things had come very easily to our son before the accident. He was athletic, popular, and did very well in school. Before, his future seemed bright; now we worried he may not have much of a future, at least one he could remember. He now struggled to relearn very, very basic skills. This was a very humbling time for him. It was also a very humbling time for his parents.
Honestly, we wondered how such a thing could happen. We had always strived to do the right things. Living the gospel had been a high priority for our family. We couldn’t understand how something so painful could happen to us. We were driven to our knees as it soon became apparent his rehabilitation would take months, even years. More difficult still was the gradual realization he would not be as he was before.
During this time, many tears were shed and our prayers became even more heartfelt and sincere. Through the eyes of humility, we gradually began to see the small miracles which our son experienced during this painful time. He began making gradual improvement. His attitude and outlook were very positive.
Today, our son Eric is married to a wonderful companion, and they have five beautiful children. He is a passionate educator and contributor to his community, as well as the Church. Most important, he continues to live in the same spirit of humility he gained long ago.

One day while Elder LeGrand Richards was Presiding Bishop of the Church, he met a young boy carrying a large odd-shaped pumpkin. Bishop Richards asked the boy what he planned to do with it.
“I’m going to give it to my bishop as tithing on the crop I have raised all by myself,” the boy replied.
Bishop Richards asked the boy’s name and then talked with him about the blessings that come to us as we pay our tithing because we are sharing with others.
A few days later as Bishop Richards was leaving the regional storehouse in Salt Lake City, he saw an old couple loading their small wagon with supplies from the storehouse. Looking more closely, Bishop Richards saw the boy’s pumpkin in their wagon. Its large size and odd shape made it easily recognizable.
Imagine the boy’s surprise when a short time later he received a letter from Bishop Richards telling him of the joy his pumpkin had brought to this grateful couple. They now had something special for their holiday dinner because a young boy was happy to pay his tithing.

Several years ago after my mission and while I was still full of adventure, I had the opportunity to go to Austria to work as a nanny. After one semester of German, I thought I should be good to go. I flew into Switzerland and caught a train to take me to Innsbruck. Unfortunately, I got on the wrong train because I ended up going further into Switzerland—all the way to the end of the line. I got off the train to ask for some help, but nobody spoke English and my one semester of German hadn’t made me quite as fluent as I had hoped. I stood on the train platform telling myself to keep it together, don’t cry, it will be alright. I have never felt more alone in my life. I was totally lost, alone and afraid. Completely overwhelmed, I couldn’t think of anything to help myself other than pray. After standing on the platform for what seemed like forever, a woman showed up and she spoke a little English. Actually, she spoke a lot more English than I did German. That lovely lady took the time to help me get on the right train and I was eventually able to get to my original destination.

On the other side of town, in a fine, large home live the van Littens, a family that has preserved Christmas traditions from Holland for generations. Dirk is wistfully remembering the fun when Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) came to their house on December 5.
Dirk had put his shoes on the hearth and filled them with sugar and hay for Sinterklaas’s white horse. The next morning the sugar and hay were gone, and in their places were a fine set of paints and new skates for Dirk.
Dirk sighs. The saintly old bishop in his red robe is gone, along with the gay parties and nonsense of Saint Nicholas’s Eve. Christmas Day is for going to church and eating a great dinner. Dirk wishes that Sinterklaas would come again instead.

A group of men were talking with the Prophet Joseph Smith one day when news arrived that the house of a poor brother who lived some distance from town was burned down. Everyone expressed sorrow for what had happened. The Prophet listened for a moment, then “put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, ‘I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?’” The immediacy of the Prophet’s response is significant. Last year millions of you responded to the sorrow of others with your means, tender hearts, and helping hands. Thank you for your wonderful measure of generosity.

I put myself through college without any help from my family or anyone else except the bank. I worked odd jobs every semester and each summer to get through college. I did many types of work including construction, delivering groceries, and digging graves at the cemetery by hand with pick and shovel. I also installed lawn sprinkler systems.
Soon after returning from my mission, I installed a sprinkler system for a Bernina Sewing machine distributor. The manager couldn’t afford to pay me in cash, so I took part of my compensation in trade. Upon completion of the project, I became the proud owner of a brand new Bernina sewing machine.
Long before I had a wife, I was preparing for my future wedding day. I knew that someday I would be married, and this fine sewing machine would make an excellent wedding gift for my then unknown bride whoever she may be. I moved and stored that sewing machine for three more years before I finally found her.
I finished college in Utah in the spring of 1973 in debt with several student loans and without a fulltime job. Nonetheless, later that summer, my sweetheart and I were married and sealed in the Salt Lake temple. Neither of our families had the financial resources to help much with our wedding reception. We rented the cultural hall at the institute of religion for all of fifty dollars. We had the smallest and simplest wedding cake you can imagine.
We couldn’t afford to provide dinner for our guests, so we served them sheet cake with a tiny cup of mixed nuts and sparkling punch. Our wedding invitations were not engraved but were printed on plain card stock by an eighty-year old member of my home ward who had been a printer in his younger years. He still had an old fashioned printing press at his shop.
I remember watching him set the type one letter at a time and then slide each blank card on and off the press every few seconds as it opened and closed. At his advanced age and with his failing eyesight, I worried that he might get his hand caught in the press. My fears were unfounded as the old pro confidently moved his hands in and out of the press in rhythm with the rotating crankshaft.
Some of the young ladies in our student ward didn’t believe Sheila was really engaged because we decided together that a diamond engagement ring would create unnecessary debt and would not be prudent. We settled on matching gold wedding bands instead. All together, we spent two or three hundred dollars for the whole affair.
I share this with you to point out that you don’t need a lot of resources to find your wife and begin your life together. You only need to follow your heart and move forward with a lot of love and faith. I assure you that your Heavenly Father will help you provide all that is required. He will provide every needful thing for those that love and obey Him.

Ryan Nelson was born with spina bifida, a birth defect that causes different degrees of paralysis. Ryan gets around mostly in a wheelchair, but he will often sit on his legs and scoot around the house. In fact, he uses this method when he plays football in the front yard with neighborhood kids. Ryan loves sports. He enjoyed watching his older brother and wanted to be on sports teams too. He started wheelchair basketball when he was about 5 and tennis when he was 12.
What has tennis done for you? It has opened up a lot of opportunities. I have found success. I went to England and played on the world team cup for tennis. Here at home I play for the Brighton High School tennis team. I think I am the first wheelchair athlete to make a regular high school sports team in Utah. Wheelchair players use spin rather than power. I can play against able-bodied players, but it’s hard to beat them. I love playing doubles.
How about basketball? I play point guard for both of the teams I am on. I’m pretty fast. Most of the other players are in wheelchairs because of injuries, so they sit regular height. I’m shorter, so I have to use my speed.

May I share with you a letter from a young man which reflects the spirit of love and which helped to make firm a testimony of the gospel:
“Dear President Monson:
“Thank you for speaking to us at the National Scouting Jamboree held at Fort A. P. Hill, Virginia. On the tour that we took we saw a lot of famous places like Niagara Falls, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and many other places. The one I enjoyed the most was the Sacred Grove. Our parents had written us all letters to read by ourselves while in the grove. After I had finished the letter my parents had written to me, I knelt in prayer. I asked if the Church was really true and if Joseph Smith really did see a vision and is a true prophet of God, and also if President Hinckley is a true prophet of God. Right after I was done praying I felt this feeling of the Spirit that these things were indeed true. I had prayed before about the same things but never received such a powerful answer. There was no way that I could deny that this Church is true or that President Hinckley is a prophet of God.
“I feel so blessed to be a member of this Church. Thanks again for attending the Jamboree.
“Sincerely,
“Chad D. Olson
“P. S. We gave our tour guide and our bus driver a copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies in it. They are the greatest! I want to be a missionary.”
Like Joseph Smith, this young man had retired to a sacred grove and prayed for answers to questions phrased by his inquiring mind. Once more a prayer was answered and a confirmation of the truth was gained.

This does not imply that people should be anxious to leave mortality, but it does suggest that parents who have lost children can be comforted by the truths of the gospel. Indeed, we should be anxiously engaged in successfully completing life’s mission. For example, after Wilford Woodruff’s young wife Phoebe passed away, he was inspired to administer to her and rebuke the power of death. He wrote of the incident:
“Her spirit returned to her body, and from that hour she was made whole; and we all felt to praise the name of God, and to trust in Him and to keep His commandments.
“While this operation was going on with me (as my wife related afterwards) her spirit left her body, and she saw it lying upon the bed, and the sisters weeping. She looked at them and at me, and upon her babe, and, while gazing upon this scene, two personages came into the room … One of these messengers informed her that she could have her choice: she might go to rest in the spirit world, or, on one condition she could have the privilege of returning to her tabernacle and continuing her labors upon the earth. The condition was, if she felt that she could stand by her husband, and with him pass through all the cares, trials, tribulations and afflictions of life which he would be called to pass through for the gospel’s sake unto the end. When she looked at the situation of her husband and child she said: ‘Yes, I will do it!’
“At the moment that decision was made the power of faith rested upon me, and when I administered unto her, her spirit entered her tabernacle …” (Leaves From My Journal, 4th ed., The Deseret News, 1909, pp. 59–60.)

Dusty the Cat entered our lives unexpectedly. He looked to be at death’s door. A filthy coat of long, matted hair hung on his boney frame, and dull eyes peered from his sad face. Dad decided to keep Dusty as a shop cat. Slowly the bedraggled feline regained his health. Matted fur became clean and beautiful.
But after several years, Dusty began acting funny. We took him to the veterinarian and found out that Dusty had gone blind.
Instead of confining Dusty to the safety of the shop, Dad installed a wire fence extending to the house and back. The small enclosure allowed Dusty to enjoy the outdoors without being in danger. Whenever Dad was near, Dusty would wander toward his voice until bumping into the fence. He would then move along the fence, getting closer to the familiar sound. At mealtimes, Dad would gently pick him up and carry him to food and fresh water.
When I first saw this, it reminded me of how we all come to our Father in Heaven, blind and in need. We are loved and comforted while being fed the bread of life and led to living waters (see John 4:6–14; 6:47–58). Our coats of sin are cleansed through the Atonement as we repent and live righteously. We can hear His voice through the Spirit and move toward our Father in Heaven without seeing Him. He will carry us gently toward eternal life.
The tenderness exhibited by my dad for Dusty may seem insignificant, but it illustrates part of the great love and mercy our Heavenly Father has for us.

One day Zoltán Szücs of Szeged, Hungary, surprised his kayaking coach by telling him that he wouldn’t be going to Germany for a competition.
“It was on the same day as my baptism, so I said no,” Zoltán said.
At age 17, Zoltán had won many competitions in kayaking. It’s a popular sport in Hungary, and Zoltán was good—good enough that becoming a professional was a real possibility. Beyond deciding to miss just one competition, Zoltán would soon give up kayaking entirely. He had something better to do.
Kayaking had been good for Zoltán. Over the years working with his coach, he had learned self-control, obedience, and hard work. Zoltán had also learned to avoid substances and habits that would hurt his performance. It wasn’t an easy life; it was lonely, and going pro would take up more time. Pros practice 12 hours a day and have to compete on Sunday.
“Kayaking took most of my time,” Zoltán says. “I was fanatical. Because of that, I left a lot of things out of my life.”
That’s why Zoltán decided that he couldn’t devote himself to both the gospel and kayaking. In 2004 he told his coach he wasn’t going to kayak anymore.
Earlier that year the missionaries started teaching Zoltán’s mom. He didn’t take part in the lessons. He grudgingly accepted his mom’s invitation to her baptism. But his heart was touched by what he felt once he entered the church building. Szücs agreed to meet with the missionaries, partly because he could identify with them.
“Missionaries were interesting to me because they were normal people but lived a higher standard,” he says.
Because of the higher standard that Zoltán was already living as a kayaker, he readily accepted the teachings of the gospel as valuable. He was baptized two months later.
At first he thought he could continue kayaking but not do competitions on Sundays. But because he’s the type of person who, once committed to an activity or course, wants to do well at it, he chose to give up kayaking entirely.
He tried once to kayak as a hobby after his baptism. When he did, his coach asked him to help teach others and organize trips since he wouldn’t compete. But he didn’t want to make commitments to kayaking—or any other activity—that could get in the way of his discipleship.
So Zoltán hung up his paddle and dedicated himself to Church service in a decision reminiscent of one President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) made when he got married. President Hunter was an accomplished musician who played dozens of instruments. In the evenings he had been playing in an orchestra, but the lifestyles of those he associated with conflicted with gospel standards. So President Hunter put his instruments away and brought them out only occasionally for family sing-alongs.1
Zoltán misses kayaking, but he realized that his love for kayaking was strong enough to compete with, and possibly overcome, his love for the Lord if he stayed too close to the sport.
“The Church became my life,” Zoltán says. “Knowing that kayaking couldn’t be a living if I wanted to be active and that it would be just a hobby, it became easy to give up. Instead, I wanted to make Heavenly Father my focus.”
Zoltán began to study the gospel with the same intensity he brings to any pursuit. He set a goal to serve a mission. He wanted to stay in his country and teach others.
He served in Hungary and now works as a high school English teacher. He continues to set his priorities on the gospel. “There are things we need to give up because they get in the way of God,” he says. “It’s easy to give up the bad once we know we should. Often we don’t realize when we should give up something good for something better. We think that because it’s not bad, we can hold onto it and still follow God’s plan.” But Zoltán knows that we must give up the good if it keeps us from following God’s plan for us.
Zoltán Szücs, of Szeged, Hungary, gave up kayaking to have more time for the gospel.
Above: photograph © Thinkstock; below: photograph by Adam C. Olson

I have been a missionary for the past nine months and had many wonderful opportunities to serve within my local community. I saw firsthand what we can do when we work together with other faiths, just as the Saviour did.
My service mission leaders encouraged me to look for my own service opportunities in my community, and one I came across was with the RAF Manston History Museum, where I helped them to clean and get the museum ready for all the visitors. Another I found is at the Thanet Winter Shelter run by the Salvation Army where I cook meals for the residents on a Saturday night.

As we walked toward our front door, my heavy trick-or-treating sack kept bumping my leg.
“I can’t wait to count all the candy I got,” I said to my brother Josh. “I bet I set a record!”
“No kidding,” Josh said. “My bag is breaking my arm!”
Our little sister Bekah hopped up the front steps and opened the door. We rushed in and dumped our candy on the floor. Mom and Dad had a rule that we could eat only a few pieces of candy on Halloween night, so I wanted to make sure I chose the best ones.
I turned to Josh, who was hunched over two piles. One was big and had some of the best candy a kid could get. The other pile was pretty small.
Josh is allergic to most of this! I suddenly remembered. In all of the excitement, I had forgotten that my brother has dairy, nut, and soy allergies. Most candy makes him sick.
I felt kind of sad when I saw the puny pile Josh could eat. But then I noticed he had a smile on his face.
“I did great! Look at all of this,” Josh said.
“Yeah … um, that looks like a lot of good candy,” I said, trying not to make him feel bad.
Josh gave me a funny look, like he could tell exactly what I was thinking.
“It’s OK, Joseph,” Josh said. He started dividing up the big pile of candy he couldn’t eat. “I know my pile of safe candy doesn’t look like much, but I have awesome plans for the rest of it.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, first I’m giving two suckers to Bekah, because she loves them, but she was too shy to go trick-or-treating at the house that was giving them away.”
Josh held out a couple of lollipops to Bekah, who squealed and grabbed him in a sparkly pink hug.
“Next I’m gonna save these for my friend Max, because he loves candy with peanut butter in it. He was sick this week, and I’m not sure if he got to go trick-or-treating.”
As I watched Josh push a bunch of the candy off to the side, a warm feeling grew inside my heart.
“It’s really cool of you to give away your candy like that,” I said.
“Well, I like helping people when I can. Plus, I’m not giving up all of it. The rest is for trading.”
I looked at my own small mountain of treats. I saw a pack of fruity candy that I knew Bekah liked.
“Here, Bekah. Want this?”
“Yes! Thank you!”
The warm feeling grew even bigger. I felt that Jesus would want me to share what I had too.
Josh had the right idea—it felt really good to share with someone I love.